


The One Where Progression and Regression are the Same Thing

by orphan_account



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky "stalks" Steve, M/M, Memories, PTSD, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Steve helps Bucky remember his past, a little bit, for better or for worse, more like watches from afar, not in a creepy way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-08 21:53:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14703111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Bucky finds a way to methodically turn his life around (for better or for worse) in three easy steps:1. Watch Steve2. Repeat3. Repeat





	The One Where Progression and Regression are the Same Thing

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in thirty minutes at 12am so let's see how this goes. I plan on editing this as of May 18, 2018

Finding the Avengers’ Tower isn’t very difficult. It’s big and bright and has the name AVENGERS painted across its side with electrified letters. Whoever came up with the design certainly does not understand the word modesty—suddenly a name comes to mind. But then, just as quickly as it appears in his mind, the name is gone. Bucky’s frown deepens. It’s been weeks since saving Captain America from the Potomac River. The large, dark, angry part of his mind screams at him, reminding him of that pathetic moment of weakness. _Слабый_ , he hears. _Держите свое сердце близко к земле._

But another part of his mind—softer, blue with green specks, tells him that he’s alright. It’s that voice that he followed to Midtown Manhattan, and it’s that voice that coaxes him to let his hood fall to his shoulders; he stands across the screen from the Avengers’ Tower, vulnerable and waiting. The voice, warm and familiar, seems to trail towards the tower, but something stops Bucky from taking a step further.

Across the street, a cab pulls over near the Avengers’ Tower. Several men step out and make their way towards the tower. Bucky stiffens. He’s still a threat to them. He’s still a threat to himself. He’s still a threat to

Since Potomac, the air has felt thinner and thinner with each passing day. Like ice, Bucky tells himself that maybe— just maybe— he’d find himself on the other side, complete once more. But when one of the men glances in his general direction, he instinctively ducks into the crowd of people walking. He passes the Tower and doesn’t look behind him. His left arm yearns for the touch of someone familiar. Someone close.

Maybe if he’d just claw through the glasslike wall between them, he’d be okay— but nothing is ever that easy.

 

When he makes it back to his small apartment in Brooklyn, one of his neighbors is taking a late shower. The pipes scream and rattle, like the horn of a train— it’s those sounds that suffocate him in his dreams.

But he dreams.

As he expected, it’s not the first time he’s had this dream, but it’s the first time he’s remembered it. In the dream there stands himself, only younger, brighter, happier. Next to him is Steve, although smaller, he still casts a protective shadow over Bucky. They wore wings, not on their shoulders but from planes above them. Their uniforms were a part of their souls, and they saluted with secret hands held behind their backs. When they left the safety of their campsites, death awaited them. Suddenly the sepia falls away from the dream, the lyrical pretense of poetry lifts like a curtain, and all that remains is the smell of blood and shit and guts, hanging, rancid, in the air. It’s war, and they, children, stand foolishly right in the middle of it. A war that had to be fought. A war that could be won, but not by them. The worst part, is when he hears the familiar voice telling saying _I’m with you, ‘til the end of the line_. Before the screaming howl of snow and wind and he’s falling, falling.

When he wakes in the morning, his pillow is damp with tears.

After showering, he takes the bus into Midtown Manhattan and plans on clawing through the ice.

  


Steve goes to the library a lot. He reads all sorts of books, but he seems to linger on the people rather than the text. Bucky watches him, from aisles away; watches him watch others. Sketchbook in his hand, Steve goes to work. He wonders if he’s ever been the one being created (or perhaps undone) by Steve’s hand. He faintly remembers Steve’s art as being delicate, pure, honest. But he is none of those things, not anymore. He tries to imagine himself as a drawing but it comes out a straggly mess of hair and betrayal.

So instead he goes back to watching Steve. Steve seems to fit in, much better than he ever could, but at the same time, he doesn’t, and something about that just kills him. Bucky can feel it in the air. The strangeness has been growing stronger every day. Like a tumor or some sort of foreign body, the sense of _wrongness_ in their being seems to have finally registered with the universe at large.

They do not belong here. It’s that simple.

And yet, maybe—if one bothered to map out the course of their relationship— the sense of isolation, being entirely separate from the people surrounding them, is what holds them together. At some point, that shared feeling must have became the glue that has held them together, and it’s that glue that’s pulling him out of bed every morning. That pulls him onto the bus towards Midtown Manhattan. Towards the neat little diner that sits across from the Avengers’ Tower.

From several yards away, Steve signs the drawing and flips the page. Bucky vanishes before he can find a new model to study.

 

Breaking into the Avengers’ Tower to watch Steve sleep sounds like a bad idea, but Bucky is a bad person, and that’s all the justification he needs. It’s actually a fairly easy to maneuver around the system. Almost too easy. But Bucky’s too tired to think about that. He can’t sleep because he can’t remember Steve’s middle name. He can’t even remember his own, but that’s besides the point right now.

He makes his way into Steve’s bedroom and sits next to the bed.

Steve’s asleep, arms wrapped around a pillow. He doesn’t snore, but he grunts occasionally as he shifts in bed. He misses someone.

Bucky remembers a woman with dark hair and red lips. His heart aches a little bit. This bleeding pain doesn’t stop, even as he remembers a boy with too much heart and not enough brawn. A boy who jumped onto a grenade. A boy who must’ve noticed that every girl he danced with had blond hair, blue eyes. A boy who saved him from Zola. A boy who got drunk with him at the bar three streets down from their apartment. A boy who reached for him as he fell. A boy he fell in love with in another lifetime.

He looks at Steve. The man sleeping in front of him, and the boy from another world, they are the same. Bucky presses his hand to Steve’s cheek. It’s his real hand, and yet Steve shivers at the touch. He pulls it away like it burns him, before standing up. He leaves without another thought, but when he falls onto his bed, he remembers. Grant.

Steven Grant Rogers.

 

“So, you’ve been this close to me, all these months?” Bucky hears a familiar voice ask. “I could’ve just stopped here for lunch, and I would’ve found you?”

He doesn’t glance behind him. He keeps his eyes on the ground and prays that he’s dreaming. Someone sits next to him. He doesn’t look up.

“Bucky,” Steve tries again.

Nothing.

Steve sighs. “It’s good to see you. I’m glad you’re safe.”

Finally, Bucky budges. “You too.” He mutters.

It’s barely a sound. From the corner of his eye, Bucky watches Steve lean forward to catch the voice amidst the rowdy diner full of people. But still, he smiles with that grand old American-made smile, and leans back into his chair. He digs his heels in for a fight.

“Where have you been staying? Manhattan?”

He shakes his head.

“Brooklyn?”

Bucky doesn’t react.

Steve nods. “What’s keeping you in Brooklyn?”

“Memories,” Bucky whispers. “I remember Brooklyn.”

“You remember me,” Steve states.

Bucky pauses. “I’m not moving into the Tower.”

Steve didn’t even have to ask. Like his partner in damnation, Bucky knows the man sitting across from him.

Steve sighs. “It would be good for us. I feel better knowing you’re okay, and we could help each other.”

“How could I possibly help you.”

Steve pauses, then sips his milkshake— when did he order that? “You’re my best friend, Buck.”

“I’m not. He was.” Bucky clarifies. Steve frowns.

“Stay with me.” He urges. He reaches across the table, towards Bucky’s stiff hands, and holds them both. “Live in the Tower with me.”

“And the others. They’re afraid of me.” he adds pointedly.

“They’re not afraid of you. They’re worried about you.” Steve insists. “Hey, if Tony didn’t trust you, would he have let you break into the Tower to watch me sleep?”

Bucky ignores this, looking around at the world surrounding them. Suddenly he blinks, and a metal contraption is being lowered over his eyes. He needs to breathe. He needs to get out. He needs Steve. He needs—

Steve squeezes his hands and suddenly he’s back in the diner. “Hey,” he whispers, “I just want you to be safe.”

“Stop that,” He bites, tearing his hands away. He feels like a child, crossing his arms and turning his face away. “I’m not the same man you knew, _before_ — I’m different. I’m—” broken. I’m bad. I’m weak.

Maybe Steve is waiting for him to finish his sentence, or maybe he’s not— perhaps he’s trying to think of a way to start his own sentence. But a heavy silence settles between them. Part of Bucky expects a screaming match, like the one they had in a different time, but this is not the case.

Bucky wonders if this is the same face Steve had made on the day when he chose to go through with the serum. In some sense, it’s happening all over again. A choice between safety, or leaping back into the unknown.

(Bucky calls it a choice, but deep down, he knows that to Steve, there is only one option.)

“Bucky, I’m not the same man either.” Steve says, and laughs mirthlessly. Suddenly he looks very, very tired. “But we can figure this out together. I’m with you until the end of the line, Buck.” He stands, and holds out his hand for Bucky to take.

He pauses. Can he trust this? Bucky sees the ice between them crack. He’s tired, but the soft voice with blue-green eyes seems louder now. He looks at Steve, and takes his hand. “Until the end of the line,” he repeats slowly.

Steve smiles.

  


**Author's Note:**

> leave a comment if you liked it(: requests are open!


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